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Protest

My soul bleeds where once before the altar Of my manhood I found worship I cannot condone another prayer to falter Where a woman's memory may slip On the bruising stones of childhood, not good The abuse of totem power, the cold Plunder of children's will, what heart so wood Defiled the fragile bodies like gold Cankered now, my faith denigrated For every woman by lust desecrated. She was my temple, and I worshipped there Since a child, loving what was pure In my belief, kneeling to beauty as not mere Form and figure, but some more Meaning of her as a gift the mirthless scream Of man. And I would for the shame Blight your house and blight the horrid dream That brought this slur against the name Else how can I lead, how can love be Trusted when it masks such cruelty?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 4/22/2009 5:19:00 PM
That cycle of Provider-Tormentor leaving the innocents bruised and timid is such a heart wrenching topic...you gave great insight and compassion to this--as you always do! Much love, Steve
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Date: 4/22/2009 3:37:00 PM
wonderful,im glad you re back to feed us your wonderful poetry---charma
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Date: 4/22/2009 2:44:00 PM
Very powerful defense of women, children, all those defiled by those who profess to love them. This is not love, of course, and I would like to see you go a few rounds in a ring with them. Bravo, Shango!
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Date: 4/22/2009 9:16:00 AM
Your words capture the heart of victims and somehow lifts up because of they way you protest the evil. You are inspiring. Always, Dane
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Date: 4/22/2009 8:21:00 AM
poetict houghts unraveled wonderfully, nice work, L'nass, Jim
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